The Longest Day
by Tiffany Rayn
Summary: How can he stay when everything tells him to leave? Why should he stay when it's never going to change?
1. Part I

The Longest Day

Summary: How can he stay when everything tells him to leave? Why should he stay when it's never going to change?

Pairing: DI Greg Lestrade/Mycroft Holmes; Mystrade

Rating: M+

Warning: Crude language, descriptive homosexual acts, fluff, and a good dose of angst for good measure.

Note: A million, billion thank you's to SaycheezeStudios from the facebook Mystrade page titled "The Detective Inspector and the British Government" for the song that sparked this idea. The title is "All I Need" by Blue.

PART I

_All I need you give me_

_All I need you give me_

_Our foundation is built upon honesty_

_But now we're fighting, you're trying to walk away_

_How we gonna do this if we don't communicate_

_I'm trying to save what we have so don't walk away_

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was furious! The insufferable git had promised! But no work was far more important to his lover than dinner with him. Sitting at the table he had set for two, romantic candle light and all, he fumed over Mycroft Holmes. He loved the man to the point of distraction but damn it to hell he was tired of this. It was the fifth time in as many weeks this had happened. It was so bad he couldn't remember the last time he'd had dinner with his boyfriend.

He had thought moving in with the oldest Holmes brother would make it easier but in reality it just made it harder. On the days he didn't work, which wasn't often, he sat at home surrounded by Mycroft's things and missing him. When he was at work he might actually see Mycroft in passing or arguing with Sherlock, which was more than he could say for when he went home at night. He had tried to visit him at his office once and though Mycroft hadn't said it he could tell he had been worried about what others would think of Lestrade's presence. He'd never attempted to visit his lover again.

_'So the honeymoon phase is over,'_ he thought as he rose from his chair and began to pick up the mess and blow out the candles. He stopped in the doorway leading to the kitchen and stared back at the table. When they had first began this affair it had been so amazing, so breathtakingly wonderful. There had been stolen kisses in Lestrade's office, groping each other in the backseat of the official car that always seemed to be at Mycroft's back and even once in an alleyway when Mycroft had shown up to see Sherlock on a case. They had made time for dinners and the detective had even accompanied the older man to a play once, as his closest friend of course. Then there had been the sex.

_'Well, love making_,' Lestrade corrected himself. There was no _just sex _with Mycroft. The man was full passion and intensity. He dominated Lestrade in the physical expression of their affections and pushed him to his limits. And he'd loved every single sweaty, pleading moment of it. God how he missed the intimacy with his partner. How he missed the time spent cuddling beside Mycroft afterward in some posh hotel they had checked into for convenience or the little cottage by the lake that Mycroft had taken him to after he had closed his last big case, the laughing and talking, the connection. Now they were lucky to squeeze in enough time to just sleep together much less do anything else. He missed Mycroft.

_'Just another meal_,' he told himself with a shake of his head and continued on into the kitchen. _'Just like all the ones before it.'_


	2. Part II

PART II

_I know you feel sick and tired of all the pain_

_We cried those tears and between us there's no more rain_

_Let's draw a line in the sand and just art over again_

_Don't let what we have be lost forever_

When Mycroft finally made it home he was tired, completely strung out. Everything hurt form the soles of his feet to the top of his head. All he wanted was something to eat, some aspirin, a nice glass of wine and to fall asleep wrapped around his lover. It was upon entering his home he noticed three things which indicated that he might not get exactly what he wanted.

One - his lover was sitting slouched in one of the living room chairs with a glass of whiskey and a fire going and didn't even turn his head to acknowledge his presence which meant he was either asleep or mad...again.

Two - the dining room table still held a place sitting with a napkin draped over the top of the dinner plate. The bumps and dips under the napkin indicated there was food on the plate waiting to be eaten. A bottle of wine sat on the table breathing.

Three - he had missed dinner...again.

Mycroft fought not to groan. Damn and bloody hell! He had forgotten all about tonight. He'd promised Lestrade he'd be here, would have been here had the Queen not called him at exactly 5:02 p.m. concerning a matter of national security that had needed Mycroft's immediate attention. He glanced again into the living room and saw Greg raise the glass. Not asleep then.

He hung his jacket on the coat rack and put him umbrella in the stand. His briefcase was tossed on the antique table sitting beside the door. He walked into the room with his tail between his legs, prepared fully to beg for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," was the only thing he could think to say as he rounded the chair and stood in front of his lover. Lestrade merely stared on at the fire. He looked haggard and was well on his way to being pissed, a state Mycroft was not unused to finding him in. The amount of alcohol that his lover consumed was starting to concern him. He was slipping away from him and all Mycroft could do was watch and wait for the bottom to fall out. He hated that he didn't know how to fix it. He hated that he didn't know what was wrong. Greg wouldn't talk to him and Mycroft had never been good at sharing his feelings.

"I know," he responded without even looking at him. So apologies weren't going to be enough this time. Begging it was then. He reached out and ran his hand up his lover's arm, watching the shiver that worked its way through him. He enjoyed touching Greg, enjoyed watching his reaction to his caresses. He started to kneel in front of him as he spoke.

"I was on my way out the door when I got a call from a very important..."

"Save it Mycroft. I already told you I understand. I don't need explanations remember. I told you that in the beginning." His lover lifted his glass and slammed the last of the whiskey in the bottom. He stared at the detective. The sharp bite in the tone stiffened his back and made him frown. If Greg wanted to be sullen then he could damn well do it alone. Mycroft was too tired to deal with this tonight.

"I remember very well. I only meant to apologize for my absence." Turning on his heels he stalked back out into the foyer and through to the dining room where he sat down and removed the napkin from the plate. Lemon herb chicken breasts with roasted potatoes and sweet carrots. His favorite, damn!


	3. Part III

PART III

_I'm drowning, gotta make it back to shore_

_I'm feeling incomplete, can't take no more_

_All I need in the world, you give me_

_I need you like the air that I breath_

_All I need you give me_

_All I need you give me_

_I moved out when you said we needed the space_

_We've had enough time to reconciliate_

_Are you willing to let it all slip away?_

_Don't let what we had be lost forever_

Two weeks later Lestrade moved out of Mycroft's townhouse.

He fully admitted he took the coward's route as he had waited until Mycroft had left for work. Moving back into his old flat hadn't been hard. The Inspector didn't own much. A few pictures, some books, clothes and shoes, a painting he'd bought. All the gifts Mycroft had bought for him he had left in the house, along with the new watch he'd given him a week ago for his birthday. He didn't want to take anything with him. They needed space that much was obvious and having the things Mycroft had bought him would only make him think about the man.

He'd left his ex-lover a note on the coffee table, just a few lines to tell him goodbye and that he'd call or text him when he'd had time to think things through. He didn't intend to actually do it.

The last time had been the last time. He wasn't going back. He didn't see how he could. They were no good together apparently. When they had been apart was when the relationship had been the best. He loved the powerful man but he couldn't be a stay at home boyfriend. He deserved more than that, wanted more than that. Lestrade wasn't ashamed of Mycroft; he didn't understand why he would be ashamed of him.

He was in the middle of hanging his clothes in the closet when his phone chimed. He pulled it out and opened the text message.

_I only wished to tell you I got your note. If you need space take it. -MH_

Short and simple. No words of love, no begging for him to come back.

Disgusted Lestrade threw his phone across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying crack before it shattered into a billion pieces. The moment of pleasure was short lived. Damn it! Now he had to go buy a new phone.

When Mycroft had walked into his home earlier today he had instantly felt the chill in the air. He'd called out for Greg, walked room to room looking for him, and then the bottom had dropped out. A note on the coffee table, how...cliché.

_Mycroft,_

_When you read this I'll be gone. I'm moving back into my old flat for a while. I think it would be best if we took some time and space from each other. I'm not happy and in the last seven weeks I've known you weren't happy either. I don't know what else to do but this. I will call or text you in a few weeks and maybe we can talk. I hope you understand._

_Love always,_

_G. Lestrade_

The tears had been hot and instant, quickly followed by the gut wrenching sobs of a man who realized he'd just lost everything.

He allowed himself an hour, just one hour to grieve the loss of his lover. The chill in the air made sense to him now. Without Greg here the warmth of the house was gone, he had taken everything good with him. Mycroft could admit to himself that he had played a part in that. He had been so concerned with what others would think about him having a male lover, hell, having a lover period. His position put him in a difficult spot when it came to personal matters. The more he shared publically, the more ammunition he was giving those who would want to manipulate him. Find a person's weakness and you can get them to do anything. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade was his one true weakness.

He supposed now he'd just have to get on without him. It would be hard but there was nothing left he could do.


End file.
